The Cobbler's Kids (26 page)

She didn’t know whether to follow him or not. When she did, at a discreet distance, she found him cowering in a far corner of the room, his eyes wide with fear, his entire body shaking.

For safety’s sake she asked Benny to help her to fix a bolt on the outside of the door. After that, once her father was inside, she would slip the bolt into place to make sure that she knew where he was whilst he was so disorientated.

No matter how much he ranted or raved she would leave him there until she was quite sure he had calmed down.

She always knew when this happened. He would hammer on the door, calling out. ‘Vera, when are you going to bring me up a cup of tea?’

For a couple of days after one of his attacks he would be quiet and subdued. Then something would remind him of Di and the fact that she had gone. For days he would sink into a dark depression, cursing Vera and blaming her for the slightest thing that went wrong.

This would start the cycle all over again. A drinking binge would follow and he would arrive home so drunk he could hardly stand up. Then his fearful illusions, his trips back into the past would come to haunt him and disrupt their lives.

At first his regular customers accepted that Mike Quinn was ‘under the weather’ and made allownces if their boots and shoes were not ready on time.

Gradually, though, their patience became strained and a great many of them began to take their repairs elsewhere.

The fact that their trade was rapidly diminishing worried Vera a great deal. She tried to conceal this new worry from Benny and did all she could to make sure that her father carried out any work the moment it was booked in. She also ensured that deliveries were done promptly, even if it meant her taking them herself in her lunch break.

Benny soon realised what was going on. ‘Why don’t I try my hand at putting on a sole or two. It can’t be all that hard,’ he offered.

Vera looked doubtful. ‘I’m sure there is a right and wrong way of doing it, some sort of technique that you have to be taught, or which only comes with years of practice,’ she warned.

‘It’s not all that scientific,’ Benny told her scornfully. ‘The soles are precut, it’s only a case of selecting the right size and hammering it into place on the shoe.’

Benny found it was not as easy as he’d thought. After hitting a tack through one of his fingers and hammering his thumb rather badly, he was ready to admit this. He also had to agree that his work was so amateurish that it wouldn’t be acceptable to any of their customers.

They both decided it was probably better to apologise and say that the repairs weren’t ready due to unforeseen circumstances, than to offer shoddy workmanship.

‘You could do the finishing off, of course,’ Vera told him. ‘The polishing machine is easy enough to use.’

‘I’ll give it a go. I certainly won’t end up with smashed fingers,’ Benny agreed.

‘If you can operate that then I’ll make a point of persuading Dad to do the basic work and leave the finishing off for you to do.’

‘Won’t he object to that?’

‘He might, but he knows he’s not keeping up with the orders so he’ll hopefully see that it will be one thing less for him to worry about.’

Between them they managed to keep the business afloat. Vera frequently had nightmares about the future, though, knowing they couldn’t continue for ever in such a haphazard manner.

She was also aware that the ‘attacks’, as she and Benny called them, were becoming ever more frequent and that they were lasting longer.

Benny was changing, too, Vera noticed. The worry and responsibility were gradually getting through to him. He was losing weight and growing more serious. These days, she thought sadly, she rarely heard him whistle or try to make her laugh with any of his light-hearted jests.

She knew he was working desperately hard at school and she sometimes wondered whether this desire to achieve academic supremacy was a sign of ambition or necessity.

She hadn’t forgotten what Benny had told her about his early days at the grammar school, when he had been the butt of the other boys’ jibes because Di Deverill was living with them. Had they somehow found out about his father’s derangement? If they had, then were they teasing him about it? Was he again trying to prove himself by beating them all in class, she wondered.

Sometimes at night, when she lay listening in the darkness for the slightest sound from her father’s room in case it might be the start of another attack, she wondered if things would have been better for all of them if Di Deverill was still living with them.

She was sure her father needed professional advice, but she wasn’t sure how to go about getting it since he refused to go and see a doctor.

‘I’m not ill, you stupid bitch,’ he had said angrily, the last time she’d suggested it. ‘I suffer from night-mares, that’s all. It’s probably the grub you dish up that is to blame,’ he had told her sourly. ‘They’ll go away in time.’

Vera didn’t think that they would and she wondered if one of the organisations like the British Legion, who claimed to help ex-soldiers, could offer her any advice.

The trouble was, they would want to see him and talk to him, but she wasn’t sure if he would cooperate.

She’d tried to keep her concern from Benny, but it was impossible to do that. Benny was as worried as she was about their dad’s condition and their own future.

‘I don’t want to leave school until I’ve sat for my School Certificate,’ he confided in Vera. ‘It would be such a waste of all the work I’ve been doing. The moment the exams are over then I’ll look for a job.’

‘Shouldn’t you wait until the results are out so that you have something to show a prospective employer?’

‘Probably, but I can always tell them what subjects I have taken and the sort of marks I expect to get.’

‘You can’t be sure of the results …’

‘You mean you think I might fail,’ he interrupted. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence!’

‘I didn’t mean it like that!’

‘Well, that’s certainly what it sounded like,’ he scowled.

‘Please, Benny,’ Vera squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t let’s quarrel. The only way we’ll get through this is by sticking together and helping each other. It’s not going to be easy.’

‘I know. I’m sorry, Vee. I didn’t mean to snap. You know what they say,’ he grinned, ‘once you reach rock bottom, things can only get better.’

His words cheered her. After a fairly peaceful weekend she went into work on the Monday feeling happier than she’d done for ages. But her confidence was soon sapped.

‘Mr Brown wants a word with you in his office at ten o’clock,’ Miss Linacre told her stiffly.

Feeling very apprehensive, Vera went to his office. The moment she went in she sensed from his attitude that something was wrong.

‘Miss Quinn, it is not easy for me to say this,’ he told her awkwardly, ‘but I am afraid I am going to have to replace you.’

For a moment Vera was struck dumb. Then, her colour rising, she demanded, ‘Why is that, Mr Brown? What have I done wrong?’

Leonard Brown cleared his throat uneasily. Ever since Thelma Linacre had complained about Vera’s timekeeping he’d wondered if they weren’t being a little bit harsh in dismissing her. He’d heard rumours that her father was ill and surmised that the root cause of the trouble was that she was having a rather difficult time at home.

‘We’re only a small company and everyone has to pull their weight,’ he explained awkwardly, wishing he could soften the blow.

‘I know that! My work is always up to par and I … I don’t make many mistakes,’ she said defensively.

‘You do take rather a lot of time off … especially at lunch times, I understand.’

She bit her lower lip and looked away. ‘I … I have things to do then, family things.’

‘Like shopping?’

She stiffened. ‘Occasionally. Usually I do things to help my dad.’

She knew he was waiting for a fuller explanation than that, but she couldn’t think of anything other than the truth. Suddenly the story of her father’s ‘attacks’ came rushing out.

Leonard Brown listened in silence, his admiration for Vera increasing with every word he heard. He had liked her, with her bright smile and vivid blue eyes, from the moment she had applied for the job three years ago. She’d been a good worker and he’d been secretly amused at the way she had stood up to Thelma Linacre.

He would be happy enough to turn a blind eye to her poor timekeeping, but he knew if he did that then there were other members of staff who would take advantage of such leniency. He’d always been a stickler on these matters so he could hardly relax the rules now.

‘I can see you have a considerable burden on your shoulders, Miss Quinn, I only wish there was some way in which I could help you.’

‘Could I work part time?’ she asked timorously.

He pondered the matter for a few minutes then shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that wouldn’t be very convenient for us. You know how the office is run, and you know we need someone here all the time to attend to the switchboard.’

‘What about if I did some of the invoice typing at home?’ she persisted.

Again Leonard Brown shook his head. ‘I don’t think Miss Linacre would agree to such an arrangement,’ he said firmly.

‘I understand.’

‘Isn’t it possible for you to help your father in his business?’

‘Repairing boots and shoes? I don’t have the right skills. Anyway, the state things are in he won’t be doing that much longer because we won’t be able to afford the rent on the shop,’ she added bitterly.

‘Mmm!’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Have you ever thought about employing someone to do the repairs for you? If you did that,’ he hurried on, ‘then I’m sure if you took care of all the paper work and deliveries then you would be able to build up the business again.’

Vera smiled wanly. ‘It sounds like a sensible idea, except that I wouldn’t be able to afford to pay the sort of wages that a skilled repairer would expect. It would only be possible if we managed to get all our old customers back and trade was as brisk as it used to be.’

He nodded understandingly. ‘I happen to know of a boot repairer who’s recently retired. Now, he might be exactly the sort of person you are looking for. If business was slow at first then it would give him a chance to get back into the swing of things.’

‘It sounds like a good idea, but we’d still have to find his wages each week,’ Vera said doubtfully.

‘You’d only pay him for the work he did so if you priced things carefully you’d find you could afford to hire him and still make a living for yourselves,’ Leonard Brown pointed out.

Vera nodded thoughtfully as she mulled the idea over.

‘He has retired, so he might be prepared to work fairly cheaply,’ Leonard Brown reminded her. ‘Would you like me to ask him to come along and have a chat with you?’

Vera felt sure she was going to like Sam Dowty from the moment he walked into the shop. With his thatch of thick white hair, white whiskers, twinkling blue eyes and ready smile he reminded her of a jovial Father Christmas.

The morning he turned up her father was in bed recovering from one of his attacks. It had lasted for two days and it had been one of the worst Vera had witnessed. She had been pondering all morning about what she ought to do for the best.

She knew there was no way she and Benny could repair the pile of boots and shoes they had taken in over the past few days and she was wondering if she should return them to their owners. Perhaps she also ought to put a notice on the shop door saying that they were unable to take in any more work for the present, she thought disconsolately.

When the bell jangled, and she saw the elderly man standing there, instinct told her that this was Sam Dowty, the retired shoe repairer that Mr Brown had told her about. She felt so relieved that she could have hugged him.

‘Mr Brown from Elbrown’s said something about you needing someone to give you a hand, missy,’ he greeted her. He nodded towards the mound of shoes waiting to be repaired. ‘It looks as though I haven’t arrived a moment too soon,’ he added, his eyes twinkling.

‘Does that mean you can commence work right away, Mr Dowty?’ Vera asked in disbelief.

‘As long as you don’t want to check out my references or any damn silly thing like that.’ He unrolled a bundle from under his arm and took out a long leather apron. ‘I came prepared,’ he told her with a chuckle.

‘I think that apron’s proof enough that you know what you’re about.’ Vera grinned.

‘Then I might as well get started. Now if you’d like to sort out the ones that are most urgent I’ll do those first.’ He looked round the shop. ‘Nice little set-up you’ve got here, all very ship-shape.’

He set to work so quickly, as if he knew where everything was and what had to be done, that it was almost as if he had worked there for years.

At first he said very little, humming tunelessly to himself as he worked. At mid-morning when Vera made them both a cup of tea he paused and sat back on the stool and looked at her questioningly.

‘So what has happened to the man who usually sits here at this bench?’ he asked gravely.

‘My dad? Well, he’s not been very well lately,’ she said ruefully.

He nodded understandingly. ‘I had heard something of the sort.’

He didn’t press the point, but waited expectantly as if he knew she was going to tell him more. Sam Dowty would have to know the whole story sometime, Vera reasoned, and this seemed to be as good a time as any to explain things to him.

In as few words as possible she told him about the attacks her dad was having. ‘I think you ought to be clear about the situation because he doesn’t know you are working here,’ she confessed. ‘I’m not at all sure how he will react when he finds out,’ she ended lamely.

‘Don’t you worry, my dear. Now that you have taken me into your confidence I know what to expect.’

‘I’m not sure that you do, Mr Dowty,’ Vera said almost apologetically. ‘You see, he can be very violent.’

Sam Dowty nodded benignly. ‘Oh, but I do, my dear! My son was the same. He died about a year ago. Shell shock. That’s what it is, you see. That’s what your dad’s suffering from, too, I’m afraid.’